by Charlotte Bronte
The Human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed,
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.
Nouvelle Vague - In a Manner of Speaking